


Putting the "Do It" in Do It Yourself

by BlossomTime



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Home Repair, M/M, OT3, write the happy poly family you want to see
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-11-04 16:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10995114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomTime/pseuds/BlossomTime
Summary: Mycroft is worried that John doesn't approve of his efforts at home repair. Turns out it's just a sex thing. Mary laughs and rolls her eyes.





	Putting the "Do It" in Do It Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> Just another fan fic writer who is choosing to ignore Season 4 except for 1. Rosie's name 2. Mrs Hudson's awesome car 3. Mycroft liking noir films. Look forward to my future stories in the John and Mary both fell in love with Mycroft AU, "Movie Night with Mycroft" and "Everyone Wants to Go to the Shops with Mrs Hudson." 
> 
> I was going to try to fix the Americanisms but then I couldn't stop laughing when I read that British people call a backsplash a splashback. So I decided to just forget it. If it's too distracting, pretend they all live in Salem, Oregon, and Mycroft works for the state governor.

Mycroft was up to his elbows in freezing cold water. And while the rational part of his brain knew that the water in a toilet tank was clean, straight from the pipe, the rest of him wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

John's voice behind him asked, "What are you _doing_? 

"This toilet's been running for months. I'm fixing it." Mycroft had always assumed that when he finally shared a home with someone, he'd be the one who could beg out of little fix-it jobs due to long hours worked. But now he shared a home with a doctor (who did detection on the side) and a nurse (who had solved a few crimes herself). It turned out healthcare beat out government for long odd hours and on-the-job stress. Add their being the primary carers for an under-one-year-old and he had the most free time of any of them by far. Sheer practicality and an effort not to be a _complete_ dick meant he got some books from the library, watched a few YouTube videos, and took up that most popular (though not most enjoyed) British hobby: DIY home repair. 

"Yeah, but in a dress shirt?" John leaned on the bathroom doorway with a half-grin. "You must be the best dressed amateur plumber in London."

Mycroft angled his torso so John could see the extravagant tomato sauce stain down the front of it, pointing with his chin. 

John laughed. "Did Rosie do that?"

"No, I did that all on my own, _thankyouverymuch_." He began checking the flapper assembly bit by bit. "It's the worst off of any of my shirts, even if it is a bit formal. Sorry, did you need something? I haven't... I mean, everything's still working. I can step out for a minute." 

"Nah. Just passing by. Can I help?"

"Not really room in here," Mycroft gestured, swishing the water with his hands, "what I really need is someone to scratch my nose." He made a face. John reached over and scratched. "Oh, god, thank you. Isn't that always the way? As soon as your hands are busy, right?" 

John went back to whatever it was he was on his way to doing in the first place, looking back at Mycroft as he walked away.

* * *

The next Saturday, Mycroft knelt on the floor with his entire top half inside the dishwasher. Rosie was next to him on the kitchen floor having fun with a mixing bowl filled with dry kidney beans. 

Mycroft smiled to himself as he heard John come in and coo to his daughter. "Are you having fun? Are you cooking for us tonight?" Rosie replied with her usual enthusiastic "Ba! Bababa!" and there was the skitter of beans flung across the floor. 

"Doing all right in there?" John's voice was much closer. Mycroft could feel warmth of him near his waist. 

"Yes. Just making sure everything's fastened together again. We'll be back in business and ready to clean." 

Mycroft pulled himself and his tools back out. John was still crouched on the kitchen floor, watching him. He quickly looked away and started putting stray beans back in Rosie's bowl.

* * *

In the following weeks, Mycroft noticed that John seemed to find some reason to linger in the room he was working in, no matter what he was fixing. Re-gluing a backsplash. Replacing a length of water damaged baseboard. When he was replacing a ceiling light fixture, up on a stepladder, Mary happened to walk through the room with Rosie on her hip and commented, "Mouth closed, darling, you're catching flies." John scuttled out of the room. 

Clearly something was up. Clearly more information was needed.

* * *

Mycroft decided the basement sump pump was the perfect experimental setting. Fiddly? Check. Needing multiple tries to diagnose? Check. Out of the way enough that John was unlikely to have a good reason to be in the room? Check. 

It turned out to be fiddly enough (and poorly lit, dammit, it was time to buy a work light) that he had nearly forgotten his plan by the time John showed up. "Just, uh, looking for... pliers?" The look on his face indicated that he was aware of how thin an excuse this was. Mycroft stood, wiping damp and greasy hands on his trousers, the ones with the indelible ink stain on the knee that _had_ been Rosie's doing, though it was his own fault for letting her hold a fountain pen. 

"Look," Mycroft started, "I know I'm not the best at this—" he waved a hand at the partially disassembled pump, "but I'm really trying, you know." He stopped himself from running a filthy hand through his hair in frustration. "It's better this than being not the best at making a dinner that we then all have to eat. This is something I can do, something for the family. I just—" he blew out a breath. "I just want to be a help. I want to be useful." He cringed internally at how much this sounded like pleading. He hadn't thought these little jobs would feel so important to him. It was awful, feeling like John was watching in dismay while he stripped another screw or installed something the wrong way up or worst of all when he had to re-do something four or five or...

John kissed him, hard. Mycroft blinked at him in astonishment, still holding his hands away from himself. John let out a little bark of a laugh. "Always thought it was a bit silly, the gay obsession with hypermasculine roles like bikers or soldiers or construction workers or... who were the rest of The Village People? Turns out I'm just as shallow as anyone. Because seeing you..." he bit at his lip, his eyes intent on Mycroft, " _fixing_ things. God." He crowded Mycroft against the rough concrete of the basement wall and kissed him again, hands around his waist. "Is that fucked up? Being turned on by the kind of thing my dad used to do every weekend? Next I'll be begging you to shout at the television." John started undoing Mycroft's shirt buttons.

"John, no, I'm filthy!" 

John moaned. "God, yes."

"What? No, I mean I'm going to get grease marks on you!" 

"Take me. Make me dirty. I want your filthy hands all over me." John only sounded half-joking. 

"You are a strange man, John." Mycroft held John's face in his hands. "A delightful, sweet, sexy, strange man. I never know what to expect from you."

"Admit it, you love it." John grinned.

"I do," Mycroft admitted, and kissed him.

* * *

"So, did he get it out of his system?" Mary asked Mycroft as he helped her sort out the recycling that night. 

"Was it that obvious?"

Mary snorted. "Mycroft, the man is entirely transparent. On the plus side, it means he's easy to please. No hinting and guessing necessary, it's written all over his face."

"You, on the other hand..."

"Yes, I'm _quite_ the enigma," Mary said drily and flipped the bin lid closed. "But I'll give you a hint." She lowered her voice to a smoky growl. "I love a man who refills the ice tray."

She winked at Mycroft. He grinned and followed her back into the house.


End file.
